Category Archives: Mental Health

The PERFECT Time and Place, In Fact

Mental Health, , , , , , , , , , ,

While most reviews have been positive, I have read an overwhelming amount of critical commentary regarding Graham Moore’s Oscar acceptance speech, most saying that while it’s wonderful that he survived a suicide attempt and is now thriving, the Oscars stage was not the right time or place to talk about it.

Why? Because the whole world was listening?

Kudos to you, Graham Moore. There’s never a wrong time or place to fight stigma, celebrate strength, and instill hope.

I promise to stay weird. For you, for me, and for all the others out there who have seen the dark side.

Watch the speech here, in case you missed it. 

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Lessons I Learn in the Elevator

Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, Mental Health

When your neighbor politely asks how you’re doing, don’t respond by telling him you’re having post-vacation anxiety and that you suspect you might have pink eye.

Your neighbor is not your therapist. Or your friend. Or, based on his reaction just now, someone who even remotely cares about you.

Try “Fine, thanks.” The old fine-thanks never landed anyone on the “do not talk to” list.

Although come to think of it, that’s a list I’d love to be on today. Maybe I’ll tell the kids I have pink eye.

Oh wait. Kids love things that are gross.

I can’t win.

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Oh Good. I’m Back Here.

Mental Health, Random Thoughts/Happenings, , , , , , ,

The NBC evening news just did a segment recommending activities for people who are looking to escape the miserable cold. Their top suggestion? An open-oven pizza place in Hoboken.

Cool idea! Let me drag myself out from under these blankets, pile on 7 layers of clothing (including a separate coat JUST FOR MY HEAD), acquire some frostbite in the city wind tunnels, feel the wind-and-sadness-induced tears turn to ice as I wait for delayed subways, ride 3 different lines of public transportation filled with unbathed homeless men looking to escape mother nature’s most recent bout of PMS, all so that I can go grab a slice of pizza IN NEW JERSEY.

It’s official. I’m not getting off this couch until spring.

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Things I Tell Myself So I’ll Actually Board the Plane

Mental Health, Random Thoughts/Happenings, , , , , ,

It’s important to leave Florida and go back to NYC in the dead of winter because waking up every morning and thinking “Life is good!” is really no way to live. And honestly, my brain just gets tired from being so positive. It was truly exhausting being that happy for 5 days. I don’t know how people down here do it all the time.

Also, my Seasonal Affective Disorder makes me an interesting, dynamic person of substance. Winter misery and despair is part of who I am and I am proud.

*typed from the West Palm Beach Airport while clutching a duty-free wine and sobbing into a bag of Combos.

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Boca Raton vs. NYC: A Runner’s Perspective

Mental Health, Random Thoughts/Happenings, , , , , , , , , , ,

On my daily morning run here in sunny Boca Raton, Florida, I couldn’t hep but compare the contrasting aspects of my exercise routine down here vs. in NYC. Let’s look at these three categories:

1. Wildlife (aka Running Buddies) running buddies

2. Road blocks: Sometimes on a run, things block your path…..

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3. Scenery as you leave your home and begin your run

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Lies I Tell So People Will Hate Me Less

Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, Mental Health, , , , , , , , ,

That moment on a plane when you’re so embarrassed by your overactive bladder that you apologetically explain to the annoyed woman in the aisle seat, who is getting up for you for the 3rd time, that you’re pregnant.

You’re not pregnant. You just know that’ll make her sympathetic and less annoyed. And you’re right. It does.

What you don’t know is that this will incite an entire conversation about said make-believe fetus.

How far along am I? About 3 months. I know. It’s crazy, I’m barely showing. I’m sure that won’t last, especially with the aid of these nacho cheesier Doritos! (Woman cackles with laughter, seems less disgusted with my snack choice than she was previously).

The father? He’s amazing. Been married 3 years. He’s in Florida for business right now, so I’m meeting him at The Breakers. Yeah, I know. Ritzy. But the thing is, he, and therefore we, are richer than God. Sometimes we take baths in our dollars and I wear a bra made of diamonds. Don’t be fooled by the hole in this Old Navy hoodie I’m wearing. In public, I prefer to blend.

First child? No. We have toddler triplets. One boy and two conjoined girls. Yeah, that delivery was rough! (finish bag of Doritos, lick fingers, bust open the Toblerone).

Names? Haven’t decided yet. I like Coconut. Maybe Sunshine. Or Palm Tree. No, I’m not just naming things I’m excited to see in Florida.

Am I sure it’s ok to fly? I don’t know. Why? Is that a thing? Maybe that’s why my girls are conjoined…

Oh ok, cool. Now we’re done here.

(Note: nothing past the 4th paragraph actually happened. Except in my head. This is how I pass time on flights. It’s also the effects of Xanax).

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Things You Don’t Want To Hear Your Pilot Say

Mental Health, Random Thoughts/Happenings, , , , ,

I’m here at Dulles airport, in DC (well, technically VA. I think. I’ll be honest I have no idea where I am.) I’ve already had quite the chain of travel snafus trying to get to Florida, starting with my cancelled flight out of NYC and followed by the world’s worst traveling cabaret ride.

Finally, things were starting to look up. My awesome parents picked me up from the bus yesterday, took me to a lovey dinner, gave me wine, and watched SNL40 with me. As always, I was the first one asleep.

Then this morning, Dad drove me to the airport. Flight is on time. Everything is coming up roses.

Then I decided to grab a quick coffee from the only coffee option here in Terminal Z (yes. Terminal Z. What the fuck else would you expect)– Dunkin Donuts. Coincidentally, I’m standing right behind the pilot of my fight. She’s about to get to the front when the cashier announces– “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry, but we are all out of regular coffee for the next 30 minutes. Only decaf.” My pilot takes one look at her copilot and says, with a grave, dire expression, “You don’t understand how much I need this coffee.”

So like– HOW MUCH are we talking? Like I can’t fly this plane at ALL without the coffee and we need to cancel? I might fall asleep mid flight and need the copilot to take over? I might get the caffeine-withdrawal shakes and accidentally clip a mountain top? I might be so out of it that I accidentally fly us somewhere even colder than this goddamn tundra? I’m just trying to figure out how many of these Xanax to take. On top of the three I immediately popped when I first got behind you, heard you say you were flying my plane, and then watched you yawn 5 times in a row.

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